Read Online The Black Hearts Murder by Ellery Queen - Free Book Online

raise the full amount personally. Since Harlan James ran out on his ten-grand bail, no bondsman would even accept a phone call from a member of the Black Hearts now.”
    McCall said fretfully, “This might really trigger something on the west side. Is there a chance Judge Edmundson might reconsider and reduce Rawlings’s bail to a reasonable sum if somebody pointed out that his action could avert a riot?”
    â€œNot if the somebody was you or me, Mr. McCall. He treated Prentiss Wade like dirt in that court—wouldn’t listen to him at all; Wade’s fit to be tied. Oh, Edmundson’d take Volper’s recommendation, because it was on the D.A.’s argument that he set this ridiculous bail in the first place. But trouble is what Volper wants. The only other man in Banbury who could influence His Honor is Gerald Horton. You know, our councilman-at-large. And candidate for mayor.”
    â€œI know. Think Horton would listen to me?”
    â€œHe’s smarter than Volper, and a politician … I just don’t know, Mr. McCall. Maybe. He has an office in city hall, phone number Emerson 3-1000. Just a minute … Horton’s extension is 123.”
    â€œThanks, Lieutenant. Keep your fingers crossed.”
    â€œWhile I’m at it, I’ve got two legs, too.”
    McCall called the city hall number and asked for extension 123. It rang and rang. Finally the switchboard operator said in a bored voice, “Mr. Horton’s probably gone home. It’s almost four-thirty. ’Most everyone here starts leaving around now.”
    â€œRing the mayor’s office, please,” McCall said. “I’m Mike McCall.”
    â€œYes, sir!” She knew who he was; he heard it in her changed tone. “I doubt anybody’s there, either, sir. But I’ll try.”
    There was no answer. McCall said, “This is an early-to-quit town, isn’t it? Do you happen to have Councilman Horton’s home phone number, doll?”
    â€œI don’t have any special list, Mr. McCall.” He could almost see her poking her hairdo. “I know it’s in the book, though. On Waxman Drive.”
    â€œThanks.”
    McCall was about to hang up when the operator said, “Sir?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI don’t think you’ll find Councilman Horton home now. I happen to know his wife is out of town.”
    McCall stopped thinking of other things. “Mr. Horton doesn’t go home when his wife is away?”
    â€œNot for dinner. He usually calls some restaurant for a reservation.”
    â€œDid he do that this afternoon?”
    â€œNot through me. But it might have been through one of the other operators.”
    â€œThank you.” McCall hung up, wondering if the occupants of city hall, up to and including Mayor Potter, were aware of the freedom with which this particular operator passed out information. The whole town was loose.
    There was no Gerald Horton listed in the directory but there were several G. Hortons. One was on Waxman Drive. McCall dialed the number.
    No answer.
    Perhaps Horton was at his radio station—it was too early for him to be having dinner. McCall consulted the phone book again for BOKO. He was memorizing the phone number when he noticed that the station address was 412 N. Grand. The address of the Banbury Plaza was a low number on Grand. McCall flipped back through the directory and found the listing for the hotel.
    325 N. Grand. The radio station was less than a block away.
    He brushed his teeth, showered, combed out a cowlick, dressed, and left the suite.
    The radio station occupied the upper floor of a two-story building, above a furniture store and a clothing store. The wooden staircase leading to it rose between the two stores.
    Inside there was a hall leading to the rear. Illuminated signs designated STUDIOS A , B and c, PRODUCTION , CONTINUITY , CONTROL ROOM . To his left, at the top of the stairs, was a door